A Dream of Night
by Shinobinator
Summary: Elia watches her husband ride past her at Harrenhal and drop the winter rose crown into the lap of the she-wolf. He has done what he has to. He has broken the realm, but he has saved it from its dark fate. (Elia's story leading up to the Tourney of Harrenhal. I own none of these themes or characters)
1. Gathering Storm

The thunder echoed through the walls of the Keep, louder and fiercer as the storm grew closer to the city over the Narrow Sea. The silver haired babe that lay in the crib beside her bed wailed in fear of the terrible noise, alone in the dark. But she did not go to him. Instead she held the man that lay beside her, as he shivered with uncontrollable violence. His skin was cold and his brow moist with sweat. His eyes were open, but he did not see her face. As she struggled to contain him in his pain, she wondered what ghosts the prince looked upon this night.

Elia had never liked the rain. She missed the morning sun at Sunspear, warm and beautiful. It would light up the city with a glow that meant home. But Elia had not seen a Dornish morning in many moons. Summer in King's Landing was no true summer. And she had spent five years of summer in the capital city.

She had been ten and six when the dragonprince had asked for her hand. Of course, he hadn't done the asking, and she wasn't the one being asked. The marriage had been agreed upon by the King and her brother, Prince Doran of Dorne. Perhaps for many girls, the match would have been one out of a dream – certainly for Lady Cersei Lannister it would have. But for Elia, Prince Rhaegar had been but a fable, spoken of with awe and wonder, too perfect to be true. She had heard rumours of his beauty and grace, but never had she imagined to lay claim to them as his lady wife – no, his royal wife.

Their first meeting had been at the alter under the light of the Seven. She had studied him as she walked into the Sept of Baelor. He had been everything that gossips described. He stood tall in his silk doublet of black and red, the three headed dragon roared proudly on his cloak. His silver hair fell past his shoulders and his eyes shone a bright violet. Elia had been prepared to resist this match in whatever little way she could as she walked down the aisle towards him, be it resentment or reluctance to give in to whatever charms he offered. But as she grew closer towards him that day, she read something strange in his eyes. The dragonprince's eyes carried a deep sorrow; a sorrow she somehow knew had nothing to do with her, one she couldn't understand.

Prince Rhaegar of House Targaryen, her royal husband, she quickly learned, was the quiet kind. He had said little or nothing through the course of the wedding feast. He was no drinker either – he nursed the same cup of wine the entire evening. While what seemed like the entire realm celebrated with the cheeriest extent of frivolity, the marriage of two great houses of Westeros, in the Great Hall, the prince seemed detached and silent. Elia was early to realize that there was more to Rhaegar than a fabled glorious prince, much more. But it wasn't until later that night that she learned just how much.

"I beg you not to fear me, Princess, for I mean you no harm" had been the first words her royal husband had said to her in the confines of the royal bedchamber. She had sat on the bed, undressed and ready for what was to follow, utterly perplexed and curious as to what he had meant, but he had said no more that night. He had diligently done his part in consummating the marriage. It had been comfortable to say the most. There had been no passion, nor any pain in the act - only duty.

It was at the hour of the wolf that same night that Elia discovered what her royal husband had meant. She was awoken by his scream; her breath was caught in her throat. She turned to see his form awkward and shaking. His face was paler than the sheets on the bed and his limbs had frozen. He writhed uncontrollably as the whites of his eyes flickered dangerously. His bare chest glistened with sweat. Elia was paralyzed by the very fear Rhaegar had asked her to set aside. Scrambling out of the bed she had run to the door and called for help, horrified, while her husband convulsed in pain whose cause she could not understand. But Ser Arthur Dayne, Sword of the Morning, and sworn kingsguard of the tortured prince had but stood there, with his head bowed. He had done nothing, while his prince wailed in agony. After incredulous protest on Elia's part, the white knight had spoken words that she carried with her to this day, "This pain is his to bare alone, Your Grace. There is nothing to be done."

White faced and horrified, Elia stood and watched her husband scream. Minutes felt like hours as she waited- praying- for it to stop. And it did.

Rhaegar's eyes had opened to see her standing shocked and afraid, with her back against the wall. He had panted hurriedly as colour returned to his face. The sweat had caused his hair to stick to his brow. A residual fear remained in his purple eyes as he looked at his wife who mimicked his expression.

"Princess-" he began bending forward in an attempt to explain himself, but was cut off by Elia's frightened gasp. "Please allow me to explain-"

She gasped in fear as he attempted to rise. He instantly held out his hand, urging her to calm down. What else could he do to convince the princess that he was not a madman?

"Princess," he said as he drew a deep breath to calm himself, "I truly meant you no harm. Please know that…"

It was that night that Elia had learned what a green dream was. She had heard fables and stories that had described them to be a kind of second sight, one that could look into the future. Her brother Oberyn had made them seem exciting in the stories he had told her as a child. But never once, had she believed the fables to be true.

She had stood rigid and afraid, still against the wall, for what felt like hours, as the weak prince told her his tale. They had begun when he was a boy. His first dream had been at the age of four, of fire and smoke, those he had seen the day he was born at Summerhall. The frightened boy had cried and wet himself, causing his royal father to slap him across the face in front of the whole court as punishment. As he grew older the dreams had gotten worse. Sometimes he dreamt of fire – dreams so vivid he could feel the air being sucked out of his lungs and smoke taking its place. Other times he dreamt of bitter cold and a chill of fear that had nothing to do with the weather. Sometimes he dreamt of darkness – pitch black nothingness. Those dreams were the worst. But it was one night when he was ten and three years old, when he realized that what he saw when he closed his eyes, was not a nightmare.

"I saw a horse," the prince shivered as he told his royal wife, "Its teeth were rot and its hide has withered. It was a walking corpse. But it stood in the darkness…in the snow…" the prince's voice reduced to barely a whisper. He bowed his head as tears rolled down his pale cheeks.

Elia stood rigid against the cold stone. She wanted to run out of the room - all the way to the harbour where she could get on a ship and sail back home. She wanted to cry out in fear. She wanted to be anywhere but where she was. But as much as she feared the prince in his current state, she also felt sorry for him as she saw him crumble before her.

"Then I saw what was riding it…"

The prince had suddenly spoken, his head still bowed, his voice still a shadow. He slowly looked up at Elia, eyes red and moist.

"It was death," he had said. "Death is coming. And I see it getting closer every night."


	2. Madness

Elia cradled her infant son, trying to calm him down. The thunder continued to rumble angrily over the sea. Rhaegar had stopped shuddering. Panting in an effort the catch his breath, he rose from the bed and walked towards the window and leaned against the window sill. Fear stirred in Elia's belly as she waited for him to speak.

"I'm sorry I woke him," Rhaegar's spoke in a low monotone, exhausted, "and you."

"He rested well in the afternoon," Elia said, rocking Aegon back to sleep. "As did I," she added. It was a lie, but she didn't want to add to her husband's anxiety. Tonight had been especially bad.

After she laid their son back into his crib, Elia poured wine into two cups that sat on the bedside table. She was used to this by now. Initially she had thought him mad. He would writhe and scream and spout madness when he woke, panting and afraid. She had been so afraid of him and ever so homesick. She had wanted to return to Sunspear, away from this madman she had been forced to marry. She would breathe freely in the daytime and grow afraid as the sun sank into the west. Every night he would wake in a cold sweat, some nights were worse than others. But every night he would tell her what he had seen and plead her to believe him. She had refused to believe, though. Green dreams were but myths, fables told to children at bedtime. These were but ramblings of a madman. Elia knew it ran in his blood. But it hadn't been merely madness. This truth she had learned in the most mortifying way.

The prince had awoken near dawn, screaming her name.

"ELIA!" in blood-curdling tones he screamed uncontrollably, his brow damp with sweat. She had jolted awake in fear on hearing her name. Breathing heavily, she had shaken his shoulders in an effort to wake him out of his trance. "I am here, my prince, beside you!"

Rhaegar had not heard her. He continued to writhe and scream, despite her efforts to comfort him. Tears streamed down his blank eyes. "ELIA! NO! UNHAND HER!" Elia continued to call out to him, to reassure him that she was by his side and not suffering whatever dark fate he believed to have befallen her. But he did not hear her. Instead he wept and screamed the word 'Elia' repeatedly. It had been the first time he had uttered her name.

Then it had stopped and the prince had awoken. Fear shone in his purple eyes, but it was not the same fear they would reflect when he saw the darkness. It was a fear that seemed to somehow be laced with anger and pain. He had turned slowly to look at Elia to see that she, too, had been crying. Hurriedly, he had pulled her into a tight embrace.

It was as Elia had felt Rhaegar's strong arms around her shake with fear, that the prince had told her that he had seen her death.

_Madness_, Elia had thought, as the troubled prince wept into her shoulder, _it is but madness…_It ran in his family, as she had come to realize in her days living in the Red Keep. The King's madness was no secret, it was but spoken of in hushed tones behind closed doors. Elia had even heard Queen Rhaella's handmaidens whisper about bruises on the queen's limbs and face morning after morning. Word of young Prince Viserys having strangled his pet cat in a fit of anger had confirmed her suspicions that even he was headed down a path similar to his royal father's. Generations of darkness brew within the veins of the dragon lords and Elia had seen it. She had but chosen to live with her fate as the wife of a madman, finding what little comfort she could in the fact that Rhaegar had never struck her nor had he ever forced himself on her. So she had done what she could do for the prince. She had tried to calm him as he told her of a warrior bearing the sigil of three dogs on a yellow field, thrice the size of an ordinary man who, in his vision, had driven a long sword through her belly after raping her repeatedly. These dreams, this fear… it was all but madness.

The next day in the king's court, she had felt her heart stop. The air felt like it had been sucked out of her lungs as Lord Tywin Lannister, the new Hand of the King, had marched into the Great Hall with his men. The lion lord was followed shortly by the largest man she had ever seen in her life. He stood taller and wider than any man in Lord Tywin's garrison, or rather, than any she had ever laid eyes upon. There had been murder in his eyes. His armour had rattled with each mammoth step he took. As he grew closer to the royal dais, Elia saw the sigil he bore on his shield. A chill went past the nape of her neck as she saw the three dogs on the yellow field. She had turned in horror, to face her husband. Rhaegar had closed his eyes as a tear slid down his face. His fear had been realized.

Neither Rhaegar, nor Elia had ever seen or heard of the man they called the Mountain nor had they ever known of the existence of House Clegane, sworn to House Lannister in the Westerlands.

It was in that moment as Elia watched the dragonprince sob silently as his nightmares came to life before her eyes, that she finally believed him.

"What did you see?" she asked in a quiet voice so as not to wake Aegon once more. Rhaegar gulped down his wine in one motion. She had always feared asking him that question. She sometimes wondered what it would be like if she did not ask him, if he never told her what he saw, if he had never told her of Clegane, if she had just remained oblivious to what the future bore. But then she would look upon the face of the man whose bed she shared night after night. She imagined the torture of being in his mind, in his thoughts, trapped in the bitter truth of the fate that awaited him. She had the luxury or choice, he didn't. Her fate had now been tied to his. She was now caught in this vortex that she could not escape.

"Elia," the prince said after draining the last of his wine, "I fear I have failed you in what I must now do." 

*** Ok I know what you're thinking. Elia just found out she's going to be brutally raped and murdered and has no reaction?! WTF! I promise I will plug all the holes the story seems to have in the coming chapters so please be patient :D Thanks for reading!


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